Day is Done
by Lyn1410G
Summary: After the death of a loved one, Tony realises that you don't need to share the same blood to be family. one-shot Please R


**Day is Done**

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own any of the characters alluded to herein – more's the pity**

**A/N:**** This short story is set 3 years after Call of Silence. (season 2) I always wondered if they **

s**tayed in touch and how their relationship might have developed. Hope you like it!**

The low glow of a solitary desk lamp provided only a small halo of light as he exited the elevator and paused for a moment to survey the empty office.

Walking over to his desk he sat down, placed his elbows on the surface and rested his head in his hands. It had been a very long day. A day filled with emotion and pride but also deep sadness.

The full Marine military service had held all the pomp and pageantry befitting a man of his impeccable service record. He knew that the old man would have wondered what all the fuss was about and smiled.

His mind wandered back over the last 3 years to the day they had met. The older man was from a different era, a different world really. A world that had long ago faded away, but it was a world that he loved to visit and he would sit for hours listening avidly to the old man's tales of life. Of love and war.

Their friendship had grown slowly at first, born out of compassion, out of a deep loneliness felt by both men. Both had suffered loss, both had recognised the need and been drawn toward the other.

It started with football. He would pick up the older man every Sunday morning round about 0900 and they would drive out to the park where he played with a group of his college buddies. The older man would tend the BBQ and cheer him on from the sideline, calling instructions and laughing uproariously if he got knocked on his ass.

He fitted in so well that he became a regular invite to parties and late night meetings at their favourite sports bar. The vast age difference didn't seem to bother any of his friends.

Why…. the older man could outdrink, outbrag and out flirt any of the much younger guys and for that, they held him in great esteem.

Yes he had fitted in just fine.

Movie night became a regular feature on both their weekly schedules. He hadn't realised just how much he had come to look forward to them but sure enough, every Monday afternoon about 1600, he would start watching the clock and praying that they didn't catch a case.

He would decline the usual offers of a drink after work from his colleagues and stopping at the store along the way, collect a classic black and white, a six pack and some pizza.

They would sit side by side on the couch; the older man reciting word for word with the actors and singing along when the big band played a dance tune. Often he would glance across and see moisture in the old eyes as memories long cherished, danced into his mind and floated on the melody.

There were times he found himself opening up and _really_ talking to the old man. Not the light and meaningless monologues that he maintained around his friends and colleagues, but deep stuff about things that mattered.

The old man would listen quietly, without interruption, knowing that his silent support was what he really craved.

He remembered the day as if it was yesterday.

They'd been buddies for about 6 months when he had met the old man for lunch at the cafe near his home. Just as the waitress had arrived to take their order his cell had rung so he excused himself and moved away a few feet to answer the call.

The voice on the line said "Please hold for the Director."

As he waited for her to come on the line, his attention drifted to the conversation at the table behind him. The young waitress was giggling with pleasure as the old man worked his considerable charms.

He smiled to himself and hoped that he would have half his luck with women when he reached eighty years!

"So, you would like a white coffee and a bagel with ham and cheese?" she read from her notepad. "and the other gentleman?"

"That's my Grandson. Isn't he a looker? And single too! Make a young lady like you a very fine catch." The old man bragged. "He's a hero you know…." The old man's voice faded into the background as he continued to sing his praises and the young waitress turned and eyed him appreciatively.

From that day onwards he called him Gramps. It felt right. Neither discussed it or questioned it. It just felt right to them both.

He lifted his head and reached into his inside coat pocket, withdrawing the letter and a long flat box. They had arrived at his apartment by courier a few hours before.

Running an unsteady hand through his hair he unfolded the letter to read again the words which he had committed to memory.

He lifted the lid of the box and saw again the blue ribbon and gold star medallion that had been awarded to Ernie so many years ago. He ran one finger over the design, and straightened the medal before closing the box. Leaning down he unlocked that drawer in his desk where he kept all of Gibbs' medals and slipped this one in to join them.

Wearily, he brushed a hand across his eyes, he pushed back his chair and crossed his ankles on the desk as he leant back and drifted off to sleep. It had been a very long day.

"Goodnight Gramps."


End file.
